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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845461">The Devil of Paradis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaa_lol/pseuds/yeaa_lol'>yeaa_lol</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Angels &amp; Demons, Angels, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Demons, Emotional Hurt, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mentions of Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Psychological Trauma, Thriller, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-04-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:49:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29845461</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaa_lol/pseuds/yeaa_lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell wasn't a pleasant place.</p><p>Not so much different to the human world, many thought. Both embodied the sins of mankind. How could they possibly be so apart from each other? But when fates clash and these two worlds collide, humanity is cruelly reminded of the hellish ways that they are so separate from as the devil makes his visit to earth.</p><p>It seems that nobody told the devil that love was a part of his fate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Armin Arlert &amp; Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Hell is not a pleasant place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some were born luckier than others.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some were born into prosperity, a life full of comfort and riches. Surrounded simply by those things you love. Family, friends, money. A promising life that stretches out into the distance, one filled with very little struggle and an abundance of things that capture the eye, things that make your heart race and body tingle with the sense of freedom that so many long for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some were born into poverty, a life full of grief and desperation. Surrounded simply by those things you hate. A family- maybe, friends- possibly, money- not a trace. A mocking life that diminishes into the ground and dries up like a dead flower. Filled with the need to gain more, not for pleasure’s sake, but for the sake to live. To live. Live. Something many people struggle with, something many have forgotten how to do.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe some aren’t born at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe they’re crafted from the ground up. Springing up like a weed, ready to be extracted and discarded as if they’re filled with venom, something that needs to be killed. Maybe they were crafted with a specific goal in mind; brining pain to others, bringing love to others. Many times we are not even sure of our own goals, our own purpose. So what happens to those who are crafted, not born? Are they met with the lavish life of the rich, or the sombre life of the poor? Or are they made to simply exist? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After all, fate works in mysterious ways.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hell was not a pleasant place.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Full of those condemned to a life of suffering. Those crafted to live a life not suitable for neither the poor or rich. Those who came face to face with fate. Those who tried to run, those who tried to hide, those who tried to stand against it proud and tall only to fall greater than those laced with acceptance. Many people agree that being sent to hell is merely a fate thing, your actions don’t contribute to it at all, no. Only the path that this life chose for you since you left the womb.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hell is not a pleasant place for those who guard it either.Constantly met with the screams of the dead. Those dead people who itch for the so called Heaven that they were promised.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two figures. Standing over the pool of the recently transmitted, the pool swimming with sinning souls. They look down, down over the ledge. This pool only holds the recently deceased. Give it some time and their souls will be moved, to where, neither were sure; that wasn’t part of their job, and they had little interest to find out. The ledge was stretched out over it, built of crimson rocks with an opaque black swirling throughout it, like a precious stone. Except this wasn’t precious at all, it was quite the opposite. Look up to see a carven that appears to have no end, it vanishes into darkness. The only light coming from the pits of fire that scattered the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Depressing, isn’t it?” One of the two figures spoke, turning to look at the other one that stands near.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is no time to speak, brother,” The second figure responds. Turning to look at the face who even dare to speak in such a place like this. His opponents’s face was casted in an orange hue, so warm it looked as if he could burst into flames, matching the flames on the wall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Come on, Paradis. Father says you need to open up more. Are you trying to go against father’s wish?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess I am.” And the conversation was cut short.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Two brothers, Paradis and Marley. Two brothers doomed to watch the underworld. Two brothers who seethed with rage at the knowledge that this is their fate. They were neither rich, poor or born. Albeit both were conceived through human mothers, their father's blood ensured that the humanity they occupied as children would be blown out as they grow older. They were crafted to be the very things their father desired. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Marley, the brother with the orange hue plastering his skin, turns around to face the exit of the cavern, indicating that he has finished what he came here to do. Which was nothing really, he just wanted to gaze down to the souls that begged for his mercy, <em>Poor things</em>, he thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Paradis, the brother rejecting his father’s wish, hears the footsteps of his brother as he leaves the room holding the recently deceased. He lets out a breath; it stirs along side the mist that decorates the pool below him. He watches it move, dancing around as if it’s a part of a sophisticated dance, it moves elegantly, freely. The mist moves around carelessly, travelling upwards into the ever growing darkness before it’s swiftly gone. Dying out. His neck is craned as he watches its death.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Death wasn’t something new to him. How could it be? Being condemned to a place so full of it that it seems he’s lost the ability to know what living is. Shame, his mother always said he had a promising life ahead of him. One fit for the richest of the rich. That was before she was taken away from him, before he was put in chains and was told he must serve the rest of entirety in this Hell.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks down to his bare feet, insensitive to the blinding heat that sears below his body. Hands reaching up to his hair, he tugs a bit. <em>Still here</em>, he thinks. <em>I’m still here. Still here.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The room doesn’t say goodbye as he leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sun enters the room in bright rays, hitting every surface it can find. The two desks collecting dust, the piles of clothes on the floor, the movie posters that decorates the walls, the nest of blonde hair that protrudes from the blankets, the blankets bunched together on the bed that lies adjacent to the matching bed on the other side of the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy, Armin, stirs in his sleep. Hand reaching out into the air to move the hair from his face and to rub his eyes. What time of day is it? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin, hey. Class starts in 20. You up?” There’s a girl in front of his bed, looking down at him. Black hair sweeps past her ears and lands on her shoulders, it looks effortless, he thinks. Her eyes, the colour of charcoal, mixed with a blue tone that subtly reminds him of the deepest part of the ocean. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mikasa?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Jean just left. Thought you were still sleeping,” The girl, Mikasa, holds a phone in her hand, eyes scanning the screen as if absentmindedly waiting for an answer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I was until you came in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well then, start getting ready. I was going to bring you something to eat but the food hall was closed. We can go out after yeah? I’ll see you after your lecture.” And with that, she leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A gruff escapes the boy's lips, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. He unplugs the phone that lays next to him, checking the time. <em>8:37am</em>, it reads. Class starts in just over twenty minutes and he is still in bed. Panic takes over him almost immediately, he’s never been late to class before, ever. <em>I can’t start now,</em> he thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bathroom door flings open, the boy rushing inside with a handful of clothes he grabbed from the back of his desk chair, the ones that are hopefully clean. Beige pants, a white shirt and a blue vest. It’ll have to do, haven’t got the time this morning. <em>God, Arlet, first day back after spring break and you’re already a mess? New record.</em> The toothbrush finds its way into his mouth, brushing vigorously as he combs his fingers through his hair. It used to reach his shoulders, almost like Mikasa. Except his was blonde, some strands so bright they looked like the sand that glistened on the beach shore. His eyes, the colour of the ocean that complemented this effortlessly well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His books lay on his desk, and in a hurry he grabs them, slips on his shoes and leaves the dorm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Reaching into his pants to find his phone, he finds it vacant. <em>Shit, I don’t have time to turn around and get it</em>. With little knowledge of how long he has until he is a met with a closed lecture door and the shame of walking in front of the whole class, pulling out a lame excuse to Mr.Smith as to why he’s late, he makes a swift run to the east-block.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His little legs travel him far, and soon enough he is met with his lecture hall, and alas, the door is still open. <em>Thank God</em>. If there even is God, he’s not quite so sure. He gave on that premise on his 9th birthday. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Head turned down, he trudges to his usual seat, dragging his feet on the floor as fatigue seems to crash over his body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey man.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That voice. Armin turns his head to look at the buzz-cutted man who sits down next to him, a devilish grin smacked on his face, eyebrows raised up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Connie, hey.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, how was Spring break?” He asks, reaching into his bag and pulling out a laptop, placing it on the desks that were screwed onto the seats they occupied. Alongside it he pulled out a flask, elbow leaning on the desk, head resting in his hand as he turned to face Armin. Before he could reply, Armin took into account the laptop that was sitting on the desk, confusion etching over his face. It wasn’t like Connie to come to school to actually learn.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good yeah, bit boring I guess,” He replied, and it was true. Spring break was namely filled with helping his Grandpa fixing the garden and spending time with Mikasa- which wasn’t all too bad. He was lucky he had them, he thought. His life was comfortable, as comfortable as it could be for a 20 year old man trying to navigate the world he was suddenly thrown into. But he wanted more. Wanted to get out there and explore. “How was yours?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh man it was great, Jean and I went out of town right? And bro you wouldn’t believe what we done, so firstly we-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of the lecture door slamming shut interrupted Connie’s sentence abruptly. Silence soon casting the room, so much so you could even hear a pin drop. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Rude.” Connie muttered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Springer, watch your words. So, good morning class, I see we’re all rejuvenated after spring break?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin slumped down into his seat, face falling slightly. The Professor’s words starting to sound mumbled and far away. The semester has only just started and he already can’t wait for it to be over.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Mr Kruger's Diner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first week went by in a blur. By the following Monday Armin felt as though he’s managed to sleep for less than twenty hours combined. Exhaustion was creeping up his spine and down his legs to where he sit on the bench on the north side of campus, waiting for Mikasa to return to him with their lunch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a beautiful day, he must admit. The branches of the trees swaying lightly in the wind that tickles his bare face, moving his hair so it curled around his ear gently, framing his sun-kissed skin that had the lightest tinge of pink, a consequence of sitting outside for a long period of time. Looking down to the ground he focuses on his shoes- normal sneakers, the white laces contrasting against the cobalt blue of the fabric. Life had to be utterly boring to focus on such futile details, but the world is lacking excitement these days. <em>How depressing</em>, Armin frowns at the thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could hear footsteps approaching- turning his head to the right he was met with Mikasa’s body, two takeaway boxes in her hands. From where he was sitting at such a distance the smell wasn’t able to carry so far, but he was sure he could smell the deliciousness that she was holding. Eyes widening as she approached.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Calm down, it’s just noodles,” She says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mikasa, I haven’t had a proper meal in a week. Noodles are like… a luxury right now.” He took the box from her outstretched hand and placed in his lap, gazing down at the food it contained. He pauses for a second, eyes blurring out of focus. <em>Is this really what I’m excited about these days? God</em>. He doesn’t mean to sound so glum all the time, he really doesn’t. He hopes dearly that his bad mood isn’t capable of rubbing off on those surrounding him. It would be a shame if people like Connie and Jean were suddenly infected with his moodiness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Snapping out of his thoughts, he’s met with Mikasa’s face staring at him intently. She looks concerned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think.” Birds fly above their heads, he hopes they don’t poop- that wouldn’t help the growing feeling of sadness that seems to be occupying his chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin, you haven’t looked happy all week. You look drained. What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The question isn’t so much what’s going on, it’s more what’s <em>not</em> going on. “ He replies, eyes downcast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sure what you me-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mikasa,” He interrupts. “Has anything exciting happened recently? I mean, God. The most exciting thing that’s happened recently is Connie telling me that him and Jean got shit-faced when they went out of town. Connie found Jean faced down in the bathtub, Mikasa, bathtub! Why can’t that be me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A look of confusion etches over her face, “You wanna pass out in a bathtub?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No! God, no. But I want something to happen, you know? Something that I will remember forever. Things I can tell future kids if I have any.” His eyes turn back to the noodles, and he digs the pair of chopsticks that were decorating the top of the box into them, not wanting the food to turn cold. Before he can say anything else, he takes them into his mouth. Eyes closing at the taste. <em>God, this is the best thing I’ve eaten in months.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, Armin. Why don’t you do something then?” She makes it sound easy. Simple. A problem with an easy solution. He notices her gaze fall to the floor, her shoe absentmindedly kicking stones that lay near the bench.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish it were that easy.” He sighs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sasha and I are going to check out this new museum exhibition on Saturday, you’re welcome to come. I’m not really sure if it’s your type of thing but-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll come.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, sure. Stop interrupting me though.” He gives her an apologetic before look before she continues. “There’s gonna be new artefacts apparently. Things from the medieval period. Sash said it’s a whole bunch of Satanic items and what-not. I think you’ll like it. If not, you can always leave but at least you can say you did something, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay.” He nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good, now finish your noodles. My feet feel like shit from walking across campus to get them. If they go cold I’ll kick your ass.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin cowers away at this, face turning to look at the scene in front of him. Some people are in groups, talking and laughing amongst themselves as if it was the most important thing in the world. Some people are by themselves, walking with their head facing the floor, refusing to make eye contact with the people they past. <em>College is a lot sadder than I thought.</em> Such a huge difference between the rich and poor, people dressed in designer goods and their flashy smiles, people whose parents payed for them to be here, and people like Armin. <em>Here to make something of myself, I suppose.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lets out another sigh, shovelling another load of noodles into his mouth, a tinge of excitement bubbling in him of the idea of this Saturday, mixed with some form of anticipation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A museum exhibition. Things from the medieval period. Satanic artefacts. Sounds great.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Many people think Hell is just an empty pit. Paradis wonders how people would react if they found out that it’s actually anything but that. Instead, it’s like a cave. Full of many open spaces, many rooms and passageways. Everything leading to the centre, a large hexagon like shaped room, high enough that it has crimson red balconies and ledges built around it, overseeing the marble and desolate floor that lies beneath it. Like the room of the recently deceased, fire is scattered around the place, emitting light and bringing the room out of pure darkness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the furthest end of this space lies a throne. On the throne lies a man. In front of this man lies his two children.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Marley, Paradis. I have called you here for a very particular reason.” The man plastered on the throne says. He is draped in black robes, eyes burning like fire. He seems to mold around the throne, as if they are inseparable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The brothers wonder what brought them to his face. They normally don’t see a lot of their father, there is no need. What else is more important than roaming around the hallways of hell? Crossing the bridges that go above pools of fire and aguish, bridges that lead into rooms that they call their home. Rooms filled with nothing but cold slabs to rest their heads upon; the indication that they will sleep. Even though there is no need, devils do not sleep. Devils are not human.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Marley is the first to speak, “Father, why are we here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have chosen one of my sons for a mission.” The man on the throne replies.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Paradis turns his head to the floor. <em>A mission? One of my sons? Please.</em> There is no need for him to be there, it’s obvious that Marley is the only suitable contender. After all, he seems to want to take the position of father a lot more than Paradis does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A mission?” Marley asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To go into the human world and retrieve something of mine that was stolen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This catches both brother’s attention. The human world? A devil going into the human world was almost unheard of. Almost. Of course, many lower rank devils were sent to earth as watchers. To watch over mankind, only to come back to Hell to report everything they learned. But even that seemed futile, they were fully capable of watching the human world from Hell. But to retrieve something that was stolen? How does one steal from Satan? They turn to look at each other, eyes open and mouths agape.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I want you to go into the human world. But even more so, become human.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Father, are we not already human?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Marley,” Their father’s eyes are squinting, displaying the slightest hint of annoyance, “You are. Not enough to blend in. Look at the two of you, one look at either and those humans will be running away from you, and that’s not what I want. You must go there to gain their trust.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Paradis remains silent at this, as he always is. <em>Gain their trust?</em> Trust was something that didn’t come easy to him, or something that came at all. What an unbearable idea. Letting a human get to know you? The sides of his mouth turn up in the slightest, the thought that he won’t have to deal with this task racing through his mind. It would only be natural for their father to give such a task to his eldest son. It seems Marley has the same idea, a sense of smugness and proudness casted in his eyes, anticipation stirring in his fingertips as if he is waiting for father’s command.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Paradis, I want you to go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This snaps both brothers awake and to their senses.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sasha, let me go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No! I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages Armin!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I saw you yesterda-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re coming on Saturday, right?” Sasha asks as she releases her grip on the blonde-haired boy. Greeting Sasha was always an energy drainer. Enthusiasm ran through her veins, along with the copious amounts of sugar that he’s surprised hasn’t knocked her out cold yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He coughs a little, “Yeah, I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sasha squeals, “Yay! Oh my God we’re gonna have so much fun! I’m not sure if Mikasa told you what it’s about, but it’s a new exhibition right? And there’s gonna be things from the medieval period and oh. Oh! Satanic artefacts, cool right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of approaching footsteps interrupts their bickering, the faces of Jean and Connie approaching. <em>Jean is quite intimidating</em>, Armin notes. A tall man with light ashy brown hair that appears blonde in the sun, shaped in what could be best described as a long and soft mullet. They’ve known each other for what feels like centuries and have only grown closer over the years, going as far to share a dorm room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What you goons talking about?” He asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I was just telling Armin about that new museum exhibition, Mik said he needs to get out a bit, you know?” <em>How embarrassing</em>, Armin thinks. <em>Letting all my friends know of my sad life.</em> He turns to Sasha with a scowl on his face. “Thought it would cheer him up a bit.” She continues.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Great, I guess? Con and I were just about to head to the diner, you guys are welcome to come. Especially you Armin, since you apparently need to get out-“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jean, don’t make fun of him,” Connie snickers. “Poor guy is already being dragged to a museum on Saturday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, it’s a great museum!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure, Sash. Well are you guys coming or not?” Amin turns to look at Connie, there is genuine sincerity on his face. He knows he means well, Mikasa has been telling the whole group about Armin’s low mood recently, it seems. <em>Lucky to have caring friends, I guess.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, sure.” He replies, placing a hand over the bag strap draped over his shoulder. A smile itching on his face slowly. <em>Life may be a drag sometimes, but at least I have these guys</em>. They walk in unison, Jean and Connie hammering on about their previous outings during spring break, Sasha piping in every now and then with a laugh or comment, or a snicker that results in Connie throwing a piece of bunched up notes at her. Amin frowns, he’s sure those are his notes from Mr.Smith’s class from last semester. He lets out a sigh and stays silent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Paradis. You’ve looked awfully solemn recently. I’m leaving this mission to you, and it’s not an offer, it’s a command. You must leave at once.” The man on the throne has a blank expression on his face, one of finality.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems Paradis isn’t the only one shocked, he turns to look at his brother. His brother’s face is stone cold, a stark contrast between the blinding heat that surrounds them. His gaze is enough to melt Paradis on the spot, warping into an expression full of envy and loathing. Paradis looks at his feet once more, cowering away from the gaze. <em>This can’t be happening.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You must leave now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns up to face his father, “Now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, son. There is no time to waste. Once on earth you must find Shiganshina District. Once there, you must find the man of name ‘Reiner Braun’. I’ve let him know of your arrival, he will be waiting for you. Lateness will not be welcomed, Paradis.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>This is all too much at once.</em> His father’s gaze is cutting daggers into his body, alongside his brother’s. He runs his right thumb along his left hand, a touch to let him know that he’s still here, it’s not a dream; though it’s impossible for him to dream nonetheless. He inhales, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back for a moment. Imagining life on earth, for how long, he’s not sure. Running alongside the cars on the streets and climbing buildings that oversee the city. Meeting people and talking with them, showing affection. A life fit for the rich, he thinks. <em>Does this make me rich?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I bid you goodbye for now, Son. You must return to me shortly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that, Paradis is met with a scorching heat. He tries to speak out, <em>how long do I have, father? Why choose me?</em> Marley’s eyes are fixed on him, even when he closes his eyes he can see the hatred burning into his skull.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His body feels as if it’s being ripped apart, screams leave his mouth but they produce no sound. The black robes that lay draped around his body seem to fizzle away, turning to ash in the searing fire that wraps itself around his body. The pain is overwhelming, the type of pain only mortals can feel. Shapes are morphing in front of his eyes, light and dark forms dancing behind his eyelids and staying at the front of his mind; <em>they’re moving</em>, he thinks. <em>What’s moving.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels as though he’s being thrown around, like he’s swimming in the pool of the souls he once had to guard. His eyes shoot open when he is met with the sensation of <em>coldness</em>. A stark contrast to the heat that was just beforehand engulfing him, his legs feel as though they’re being raked, arms as though they’re being twisted and snapped. He tries to shout once more, but is only met with the sudden sight of darkness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothingness. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes open slowly, taking in his surrounding. It’s not dark, not black, not red. It’s green. Green. There’s green everywhere. He’s in the forest, he notes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hands reaching up to rub at his eyes, he looks into the sky. Instead of a never ending darkness, he sees clouds- the moon creeping behind them as if in greeting. The trees are almost still, standing around him, guarding him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tries to stand, but falls down suddenly, legs not used to standing on mortal ground. A breeze sweeps past his body, and shivers run down his spine. It’s cold. He’s sure he’s never been cold in his life. His eyes open fully, a sense of attentiveness taking over his mind. Using his arms, he makes an effort to pry himself from the floor, feet firmly on the ground as he wobbles, now standing fully. Taking in a breath, he looks around him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not too far to the right there is a lake. He moves towards it, feet slowly getting used to the sensation of walking in what feels like a new body.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once facing the water he peers down over the edge and almost gasps as what he sees. Green eyes staring back him, bold and bright. What happened to his once grey eyes? His dull, lifeless eyes and pale white skin. <em>I look tan</em>, he thinks. His hair, a few shades lighter than it was before. He looks different, he looks <em>human.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The tan skin extends past his head and neck to his torso, heading downwards; that’s when the realisation hits. He’s naked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seems as though father couldn’t spear him his robes. <em>Bastard</em>. He knows a few things about human modesty, he knows he cannot walk around without covering. But where to get clothes?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His feet take him further into the forest, mind soaring with excuses in the event that somebody does find him out here, naked in the setting sun. Twigs snap below his feet, piercing the skin. <em>Ouch, shit</em>. Not used to feeling such pain, he walks more carefully. Hands grazing the bark of the trees as he passes, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingertips. The air is crisp and fresh, so much so it almost hurts as it enters his lungs. He breathes it in fully, <em>it feels like life,</em> he thinks. <em>Maybe this is what living is?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Walking further, he sees an orange glow in the distance, instantly recognising it as fire. <em>Seems like there’s no escape</em>. He walks towards it, eyes squinting at the sudden brightness that seems like it could very well blind him, burn his skin even.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s a clearing. An open space surrounded by trees and shrubs. In the middle lay two tents, one blue and one red. One significantly larger than the other. <em>Family camping</em>, he notes. Mother told him about that when he was younger, she promised she would take him to all the national parks there was. The fire is still lit, blazing and releasing smoke and ash into the air, it’s almost mesmerising. <em>Nobody is here. Maybe they’re near the lake, where I was before. Or hunting? Not too sure on what these humans do.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sneaking quietly, he approaches the blue tent, the larger of the two and unzips the entrance. As he expected, it was empty. He looks around until his eyes find a bag shoved into the farthest right corner. Bingo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scatters over, hand grabbing the bag forcefully, almost tearing it open. To his luck, he is met with an abundance of clothes, pulling them out vigorously. There’s no time to decide on what looks good. He grabs the first pair of pants he sees, alongside a t-shirt and some stupid looking sandals that he hopes at least fits. Quickly, he places the garments on his body. <em>I look insane,</em> he thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are voices. Voices are approaching.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoves the remaining clothes back into the bag, eyes darting around to see small silhouettes through the tent walls. <em>Shit, shit, shit</em>. The zip to the tent rips open as he runs, runs as fast as his newly formed feet can take him. There’s shouting behind him, <em>“Hey, you!”, “Get back here!”.</em> He pays no attention, blocking out the sounds as he runs for as long as he possibly can.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Running is a lot easier with shoes</em>, he notes. Soon enough he finds himself on the edge of the forest. His chest heaving, trying to suck in air that he previously lost making his escape. His hand comes up to shield his eyes as he peers at the glowing light in front of him, this time not from a fire, but a diner, a restaurant.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What kind of shit-heads put a diner right next to a forest?” He mutters, walking slowly towards it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luck seems to be on his side. His feet drag towards the building, nerves still tingling from almost being caught stealing from that family campsite. <em>I’m a devil, I can take whatever I want</em>. A scowl now finds its way onto his face. Looking up to the sign that stands outside the building, the scrambled text begins to become readable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">‘Mr. Kruger’s Diner! Open 24 hours a day!’</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A scoff finds its way out of his mouth. Stupid humans and their inability to take a day of rest. Who would want to work for 24 hours a day? That’s stupid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Walking up to the front door, he debates going in. He has no money, the thing that those humans are so obsessed with. That thing that separates the rich and poor so distinctively. He has none of it. He’s hoping that guy Reiner will have any. <em>Shit. Reiner</em>. How the fuck is he supposed to find one guy amongst this whole city? His head drops, staring at the floor and those stupid sandals. Father should’ve chosen Marley for this job.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, the door in front of him is flung open. Head turning upwards to find himself met with a tall man. He has brown hair nested on the top of his head, wrinkles decorating the outside of his eyes and down his face, he looks well-aged, but more importantly, he looks happy. That’s rare. He assumes this must be Mr. Kruger, the owner. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes are met with a name-tag, and it seems he is right. It reads ‘Eren Kruger’.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren Kruger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren. It has a nice ring to it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Glowing lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The light is dangling from the ceiling, emitting a yellow glow that brings the living room out of the darkness. Outside, the faint sound of rain pattering against the wet ground fills the space, bouncing off the walls and into the ears of the four people occupying it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A boy. Not a day over the ripe age of nine. He stands, back facing the wall and eyes in the direction of three adults that tower over him, like trees in a forest, trapping him, keeping him still. Looking up he sees three pairs of eyes looking in his direction as if he’s made from glass. <em>They can see through me</em>, he thinks. He wonders if they can see his blood that runs through his veins, his heart that they are so slowly breaking. The heart that they chip away at, leaving the rubble to fall away slowly like a petal from a flower.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boy looks down to the ground. The floor looks as though it could swallow him whole, its floorboards etched with scratches and dents that signify the life that once inhabited the walls. The life that seems dead tonight. Instead in its place is the sense of sorrow, the feeling of loneliness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A hand reaches out to clasp his head, gently lifting his swollen and teary-faced cheeks up to look at the woman standing over him. In her hand, there is a bag. Her delicate fingers clasping the handles so tightly the boy wonders if it is going to snap, break and crumble. A dark blue coat is wrapped around her body, the coat so long it grazes her ankles. He can see a similarity between the blue on her coat and the growing dark of the night that he can see outside the windows, the night beyond the bright orange curtains that seem to clash against the green of the sofas in a way he can only describe as repulsive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin,” She says. She whispers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shaking his head quickly, her hand shoots back to her side as if she were stung. He doesn’t want to hear her excuse, doesn’t <em>need</em> to. There are two men beside the woman. One to her left, dressed matching to her, draped in a dark blue coat so long that it almost twists around his ankles. The one to her right, dressed in nothing but a worn down t-shirt and pants that hang on his aged hips. Wrinkles dance around his eyes, veins and scars lacing his hands, reminiscent of the life he once used to live.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man in the coat takes Armin by the hand, gently holding his fingers. Holding them as if he were a newborn baby, hoping that the latter will wrap his small fingers around his thumb as he would cry out and beg for the man to hold him. There’s a frown on his face, Armin notes. It irritates him. He should be the one frowning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You knew this day would come.” The man utters. And no, Armin hadn’t. Not really. He’d pushed the thought back so much that it was almost lost, burrowed away deeply in the back of his mind as if it were nothing more than a broken promise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, how he wishes it were a broken promise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next moments pass in a swift array of hugs and goodbyes, goodbyes Armin wants no part in. He’s sure he can hear a sorry as well. It feels like a stab in the heart. His knees wobble below him, but he stands up straight, refusing to buckle under the weight that was suddenly placed onto his shoulders. The man dressed in a t-shirt and pants, his Grandpa, places a hand on his shoulder. An act of reassurance. What is there to reassure? Can this all be fixed? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thunder roars outside the house, growing hungry and savage. Fitting to the feelings that swarm inside the boy’s heart. The two figures in the coats move to the door, creaking over the floorboards. He wants to reach out and take them by the hand, bury his face into their chests and beg them to stay. Tears sting the corner of his eyes, threatening to blur his vision, he quickly wipes at them, not daring to miss these final moments.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within a blink of an eye, the two figures, his parents, are gone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels sick, the sound of the rattling weather outside ringing around in his skull like a swarm of bees. His Grandpa’s hand is still gripped onto his shoulder, fearing that if he were to take it off the boy below him would collapse. There’s a tingling sensation in his fingertips, a buzzing sensation in his toes. It feels like they’re begging for him to run. Run after them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he does.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Crossing the room he reaches the door and flings it open. The world in front of him is encased in a sheet of mist and a darkness that seems to know no end. A hand reaches up to shield his eyes, squinty carefully to see the figures of two people walking away, hand in hand. There’s a white glow around them, a striking contrast against the black that surrounds them. As if they were meant to stand out, meant to be found, meant to be <em>chased</em>. Like prey, they walk slowly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin runs. Runs towards the glowing light he sees ahead of him. Choosing to ignore how the world around him has lost its shape, how the ground seems to be getting smaller and smaller. He’s never been a great runner, always falling behind in anything physically demanding. His lungs feel like they’re on fire, every time he intakes a breath it feels like hot lava is being poured onto his chest; like thorns are being wrapped around his neck. He reaches out his hand, as if by some miracle that would bring them closer towards him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They stop. The figures stop moving. They stand in place, shining their white light out into the air that engulfs them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin stops too, confusion spreading across his body. Are they changing their mind? He walks slowly, turning around to face the house only to realise it’s no longer there. Nothing is. The only thing around him is darkness and a mist that swirls around his feet. It’s cold. So painfully cold and he can feel his arms begin to tremble. From the lack of heat or fear, he’s not too sure.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Walking carefully he approaches the two bodies, soon finding himself standing behind them. Placing his hand onto his mother’s shoulder, as if to let her know that he’s there, he quivers. He won’t let them leave so easily.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mother, father!” He shouts, a desperate attempt to gather their attention. There’s no response. His eyebrows contort. Had they not heard him?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Guys?” He shoves at his mother lightly, she sways in place. The white glow is dying. Dimming out like a candle’s flame being extinguished. Fear washes over his body as he quickly takes his hand away like he had been burnt. Slowly, he sees the two bodies in front of him turn around.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re not his parents.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is met with the most horrifying image. Their faces are melting, dripping down into the darkness below that seems to swallow the drops whole. A cold breeze passes his ears. <em>Run</em>, it whispers. He tries to move his body, but he is frozen. Frozen, staring at the two people who raised him morphing into things so unrecognisable it makes his blood turn to ice and the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, their hands reach out to him, one on his neck, two on his shoulders and one on his face, holding him in place. Tears are spilling down his cheeks, the salty taste entering his mouth as his nose runs alongside it. He’s shaking, terror so paralysing his brain seems to short circuit. <em>Who are these people?</em> A mixture between a sob and scream forces its way up to his throat and pass his mouth into the air. It’s not received well, the two figures in front of him growing agitated and twitchy. Only then does he sees the blood that drips from the corners of their mouths, mouths turning upwards into grins so menacing, so <em>devilish. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin screams again, starts to thrash as he attempts to swat away at the arms that hold him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin.” He hears voices whisper. <em>No</em>, he thinks. <em>Leave me alone</em>. Bordering on hysteria, his movements become frantic, twisting his body quickly and vigorously, arms moving to hit anything surrounding him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin!” The voices repeat, this time laced with a hint of fear itself and… concern?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin!” It’s rushed this time. His eyes are squeezed shut, blocking out the sounds that are shaking his brain around in his skull. His throat feels like it’s closing, cutting off the air that is at least keeping him awake. Not for long, apparently. Everything seems to slow down, his movements becoming lethargic in their ways and drawn out. His eyes relax, a low ringing sound encapsulating him. <em>Is this what it feels like to die?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Armin!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wakes suddenly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looking around the room, he spots Jean and Mikasa staring over him. <em>A dream</em>, he thinks.<em> Just a dream</em>. He sits up and looks down, shocked to see both Jean and Mikasa’s hands clenched onto his left upper arm. He had been dreaming. No, he had been experiencing a nightmare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You scared me, man. I had to call Mikasa. You were moving in your sleep, crying and shit.” Jean explains as Armin looks towards his face. There are dark circles under his eyes, had Armin been the cause of this? Of his apparent restless sleep?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry…” He mutters. Head turning back down and eyes closing, dragging in a deep breath that he hopes will soothe the pounding headache that is starting to stir up behind his eyelids. His hands twitch next to his sides, the last nerve passing through them and dissipating into the air. The room is silent, still.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Mikasa who speaks this time, “You don’t need to apologise,” She says. “You feeling okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods his head weakly. Just a dream. A terrifying one, but a dream nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their day continues on as usual. The Tuesday atmosphere providing nothing particularly exciting. Albeit it was terrifying, the dream was the most excitement Armin has had in what feels like weeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ponders this as they sit in the diner later on in the day, the diner that borders the forest, the one they visited yesterday. They didn’t stay for long, however. Connie said they should aim to leave before sunset. “I have tutoring.” He explained, earning a snicker from Jean. Armin was with Jean on this one, it wasn’t at all like Connie to take academics seriously- though he does faintly remember his intense focus in Professor Smith’s class the previous day. <em>Strange.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But today was a new day. This time it was only Mikasa and Armin who sit in the diner, the freedom of knowing that there are no looming tutor sessions to send them home early. Armin digs his straw into his milkshake that lays on the table in front of him. He stares at it intently, earning the attention of Mikasa who raises her eyebrow up in question, '<em>You okay?'</em>, he gathers that’s what she’s trying to ask. He nods his head quickly and turns to stare out the window, gazing into the forest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Kiddos.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Armin nearly jumps out of his seat, his hand almost flinging the straw across the room. Mr Kruger stands at their side, hands clasped in front of his body, a smile stretched across his face. Armin looks at Mikasa who sits on the opposite seat of the table, her head is turned up at him. Nonchalance plastered on her face, but Armin is sure if he looks close enough he can see the faint smile tugging at her lips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Mr Kruger.” Greeting him, she turns her body to face him. A sign of respect, of friendliness. She doesn’t show that to a lot of people, he notes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Saw you kids here yesterday, left before I could say hello.” The man shuffles on his feet. “Thought I should pop over now if it’s not bad timing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not at all,” Mikasa says. Armin’s thoughts seem to drift away at this. Mr Kruger is a nice guy, sure, but overly enthusiastic. He looks back out the window, gaze skimming over the trees and shrubs, the voices between Mikasa and the other man becoming jumbled and low in volume. It’s almost scenic, it feels peaceful. He feels quite safe here.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Something catches his attention. “You guys should be glad you left when you did yesterday.” He hears Mr Kruger say.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He continues, “Some guy came here. I saw him wandering around outside, he appeared at the edge of the forest. Then he came up the front door and just stood there. The guy looked manic. Seriously thought I was about to get jumped.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My God.” Mikasa's face contorts at this, scrunching, hands baling into fits on the table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you hurt you?” Armin asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hurt? No, no. Guy just freaked me out, that’s all. Took one long look at me then left. Just like that. Almost as if he was never here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A chill runs down Armin’s spine at this. A tinge of excitement too. A new weird guy in town? Well, that sure is something to keep him on his heels. He almost laughs at this. <em>How boring does it have to get to receive a thrill from something like this?</em> A giggle almost escapes his mouth, he coughs to prevent it from leaking out. Placing a closed fist over his mouth he breathes heavily, trying to contain the laughter that he’s not sure he knows the purpose of anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mikasa gives him a look, close to a glare. “Armin.” There’s a warning behind her words, Armin can feel himself almost shrink under her gaze.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll leave you kids alone now.” And with that, Mr Kruger leaves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is up with you recently?” Mikasa asks in a hushed voice. She is leaning across the table, eyes darting back and forth to the boy sitting across from her and to the door Mr Kruger disappeared into.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing,” He replies, back slumping. “Just excited.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scoffs at this, grabbing the milkshake in front of him, throwing out his straw and replacing it with her own from the drink she previously ordered. He doesn’t protest at this, allows her to take the drink he’s sure he wouldn’t have finished anyway.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a weirdo.” She comments. Armin doesn’t reply. What’s the point in trying to deny the truth?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Earth is utter shit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s full of shit too. Shit landscapes, shit smells, shit people. Paradis has been on earth for nearing a day now and it’s almost unbearable. How had his mother done it? He notes sourly that it’s still better than being stuck in that fiery shit-hole he calls Hell, the place he calls home. Maybe a place like Heaven really <em>is</em> just unattainable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s changed his name. Whilst on earth, he shall be known as Eren. Just Eren. All thanks to that guy in the diner. He was weird looking. Looking at Eren as if he were the weird one. <em>Well, he wouldn’t be wrong,</em> he thinks. But still, to be so shocked at a man who appears at your door. Is that not what the diner is for, welcoming potential customers?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sighing, he lets the thought go. No need to be hung up on something so insignificant, he got what he wanted out of it, albeit it wasn’t a place to stay. He’d spent the first night walking around aimlessly on the streets of this district, Shiganshina, he recalls. It couldn’t be classified as a city, the real city, Trost, was only about a ten-minute drive away. You could see its skyline over the trees. Shiganshina was on the outskirts, filled mainly with houses- a residential district more than anything. Eren saw a sign pointing to a College whilst walking. He guesses it’s one of those schools outside the city, the ones the kids want to go to if they need the means to escape, to break away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, this makes finding this Reiner guy’s place significantly challenging. He was already lucky enough that he was thrown into this world on Shiganshina’s borders; saving him possibly a week or so of travelling. His father, the smartass he is, left little direction in the way of this man. <em>Fuck. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s just past mid-day. He’s still dressed in the rag-doll clothes he stole from the tent, stupid-looking sandals still attached to his feet. A frown twists at his mouth. Though he doesn’t care about human interaction nor particularly human judgement, he still feels uneasy at the thought of people seeing him well… like this. With hair, the length it is, unruly and unkempt, falling past his shoulders in knots intertwined with dirt that he received from his <em>delightful</em> entrance, the mud he’s sure is smeared on his face and the clothes that stick to his body and itch- he looks like Hell, simply. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughs at this. Keeping the image of Hell even when he’s away, it appears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are houses around him, some larger than others, a clear division of the rich and the poor. He walks down the street, hoping that nobody occupying these houses deems it necessary to look outside, look at him, more specifically. He’s sure his dishevelled appearance would put them into shock almost immediately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cars pass him quite frequently, Eren looking into the window to meet the eyes of the drivers who quickly divert their gaze. He walks down streets, rows of houses for what seems like an eternity. He wonders if this town (Can he even call it that?) has a main road. From what he’s seen so far, the roads are only enough for two cars side by side at a time, if even that. Roads that simply separate houses that face each other. Is there anything else here? <em>How incredibly mundane</em>, he thinks to himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hours pass at an agonisingly slow rate, and Eren feels like he’s been walking in circles. The sky has shifted to pale orange and pink hues. Sun-set. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He keeps walking, noticing the street lamps that occupy the lining of the road on either side begin to flicker on. Something to dwell his empty mind on, he ponders whether these lights are automated or not. <em>Do they just turn on at a certain time?</em> He kicks a stone with his foot (the feet with the stupid fucking sandals stuck to them) and scoffs. What else is there to think about? That guy Reiner would probably be the best bet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eren would try to think about him, but it would fall short considering that the only thing he knows about this guy is his name. Not even what he looks like. <em>How utterly helpful.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Walking on glumly, he crosses the road. He notices how this road seems to cross, a road stretching on to both his right and left and not just in front of him. Initially, he pays no interest in this, but something catches his eyes as he passes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lights. And not just those street lamps that flickered on pathetically at the sight of sun-set. No, these lights were vibrant. City-like. <em>Bingo</em>. Maybe this town isn’t so bad. So he walks, walks in the direction of the glowing lights he sees in front of him, the rest of the world almost falling into complete darkness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His feet are itching and moving at rapid speeds at the probability of something exciting. He notes that it’s completely night by the time he arrives, the sun now invisible. Voices quickly fill his ears and he almost walks blindly into it before coming to an abrupt stop. He curses his own appearance, looking as if he just crawled out a bush that he’d been inhabiting for the last six years. However, with closer inspection, he eases. With the look of people scurrying across this seemingly busy street, <em>(So this is where everybody is, huh?)</em> he almost smiles with the thought that he could fit in. The streets are filled with College students, staggering over each other, laughter bubbling out of their mouths.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On a Tuesday, seriously?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But on another note, maybe his dishevelled appearance won’t stand out too much after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So he walks, just as he had been. Into the crowd of people before him, and matching his guess, nobody gives him a second glance. <em>Perfect</em>. There are stores tightly packed side by side, some buildings significantly larger than others- one reads ‘Movie Theatre’. He approaches it and gazes at the movie posters that are plastered on its outside. <em>Interesting, to say the least.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s an aggressive knock into his shoulder, it sends him wavering on his feet <em>What the fuck? </em>He turns around almost immediately, eyes falling upon an auburn-haired girl. She’s resting her hands on her knees, hunched over. She’s in pain, he concludes. Glad to know that he wasn’t almost shoved to the floor purposefully. <em>How sweet.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A man sporting a buzz-cut is running up to her from the other side of the street, waving his arm frantically.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sasha, holy shit!” Eren hears him shout. Sasha, then. The girl who almost shoved him down. He looks down at her, even considers offering his hand in faux kindness until the man appears at her side. Bending down slightly to grab onto her arm, he pulls her up so her arms are now crossed over her stomach and not resting upon her knees. Eren looks at them blankly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry man,” The guy at her side says, he glances over Eren quickly, a confused and repulsed look flashes over his face so quickly it’s almost unnoticeable. Eren notices this though, almost questions why until he suddenly remembers the state he is currently in. <em>Ah, so some people do take a second to look.</em> “She’s been drinking, not feeling too good it seems, come on Sash. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drags her away before Eren can get a word in. <em>Strange</em>. He continues walking, trying to forget about the whole ordeal. It shouldn’t have stung, he’s a devil for crying out loud. It’s almost a slap in the face, a reminder that his Father put a few more drops of humanity in his body before dumping him here. <em>Curse these human emotions</em>, he thinks. He almost laughs at himself, he sounds like an absolute edge-lord.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lost in thought, he almost doesn’t notice the scream that pierces his left ear. He turns suddenly and sees that he’s found himself at the entrance of an alleyway. There's a metal bar about four feet above his head, connecting the two buildings that stand on either side of this small space. From the bar hangs a couple of lights that shine on the scene perfectly. In front of him, there is a man and a woman. Screams erupt from the woman, wailing for help. The man is grabbing her side violently, and Eren works out that he is trying to grab hold of her purse. A mugging, he’s gone and made himself accidentally walk in on a mugging. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scrunches his face and almost turns around immediately, after all, he’s a Devil. There’s no point in conforming to some sense of faux justice. Justice will be served when he sees the face of that male fucker in Hell. But he’s not in Hell anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a huff, he walks towards them. Hand curled at his side, ready to land a swing in the guy’s face; just enough to get him off the woman so Eren can go about his mission of finding this Reiner guy without a guilty conscience. However as he approaches the two people separate, stepping away from each other, the woman’s screams dying almost instantly. Confusion fills Eren’s mind like a cloud. <em>What the fuck?</em> He didn’t even get to intervene. With a sour tongue, he thinks that maybe it’s his appearance. He knows, yes, he knows. Knows he looks like utter shit, but <em>damn</em>. He didn’t think it was so bad that it would stop a whole felony.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can speak up to question their sudden movements, a bold figure appears behind him. Before he can react, a strong hand is clasped over his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Paradis, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p>
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